Games of Risk, Wish of Regret
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: At most, he has months. And if he had any other choice…if there were any other way…But there is truly no other place he'd rather be. The Time Lord could complain, but he thinks a few moments might be enough. Besides, he's sick of running.10&13


**Okay, here goes again.**

**DISCLAIMER: People who write these things are not typically thing-owning people. Doctor Who is not mine. **

**This is another one of my crazy ideas. I start with a tiny prompt that was never meant to exceed 2000 words. **

**I was thinking "How did Rose finish the canon in Pete's World?" Not to insult her intellect, but she's not exactly Stephen Hawking when it comes to science-y things. So how could she have done it? Surely she had help? **

**If you had a time machine and could go back to fix your biggest regret, what would you change? **

**I think if he had a choice, she would be the last person he would want to see. **

**GAMES OF RISK**

At most, he has months. And if he had any other choice…if there were any other way…

But there is truly no other place he'd rather be.

"_The adventure I could never have…"_

The only adventure he'd like to have, now. Because dying is an adventure. He's old and so lonely. Death is welcome. Well, nearly. It's welcome as soon as he is ready. And he is, almost.

There are still a million and one things to do, hundreds of thousands to save, villains to stop but for once he's being entirely selfish so as to grant his own dying wish—it is not as though anyone else will.

He has always been hers. For the last thousand year, he's just been borrowed by the universe like a library book that is so popular it never stays on its home shelf for very long. That is a perfect simile for their relationship, yes. Today he's returning for the last time, to stay for as long as fickle time will allow him. If time is kind, he might be there for a month or more. But if there is no such thing as Karma, maybe a few moments.

The Time Lord could complain, but he thinks a few moments might be enough. Besides, he's sick of running.

**XXXXXXXXXXXX**

She wishes he hadn't told her everything. Because then there's tiny bit of her mind that's calling him selfish. He has told her he can't stay, that she'll find a way to the other him. He says he doesn't have much time, but what he has he'll give to her gladly. Shyly, he tells he has gone the last hundred years without any companion and that he's lonely and he thought perhaps she was as well and he…he has gob similar to her Doctor. The thought hurts.

Why does he have to barge in on his make-shift death bed to find her? Why risk tearing apart their universe?

She never thought she meant so much to him. A star is one thing, an entire universe is quite another.

"You're dying." Of course, he had told her he wasn't one hundred percent immortal—in fact, he made it pretty clear that one day he'd die, just like everyone else.

"Everything ends." He replies sensibly. "You know that, Rose."

And she does. It is the greatest lesson he's taught her, the only thing that allowed her to move on (only a little) and accept a brief life here in the second Earth.

She can't help asking, "How long has it been since…"_I've died. Or left. Or disappeared._"…been gone?"

This time around, his eyes are blue. They echo his ninth's, all icy and deep. She wants to look away, but the memory won't let her. They're compassionate, sad, perfectly resolute in trying to make this less painful for both of them.

"You know I can't tell you. I _won't _tell you. Don't make it hurt more than need be, Rose."

"This isn't my fault. You're the one who came to me." She's telling him, practically snapping. Honestly, she can't help it. She can't help _him_. The Time Lord has made it very clear he's fading. So why come to her? "If anyone is doing the hurting, it's you."

"I'm sorry."

"Why couldn't you have come through before?" Her voice is loud, it's almost a yell. "Risk it when you're dying, but when I need you…right after I promise…!"

He's there, as always. And it's like nothing has changed. No time has passed. They're not in an alternate universe. And he's not a new person, again. The very last of the Time Lords and the human who doesn't belong in either world.

They're wrapped themselves around in one another. He's put a finger under her chin to tilt it toward him to capture her lips. Tears mix with the kiss. For once, they're his.

Rose falls into the kissing and the crying without another sound, because there isn't anything else to do. She's not mad, really she isn't. Not at him. The universe as thrown so much at this man, he deserves one last thing _something_. A something that is apparently her. _Why?_

Later, the question has to be asked. It's hung in the air ever since his police box materialized on the lawn beside the lake on the Tyler estates. When she flew from her room, down the marble front steps to wrench open the door, all the time wondering _"Why hasn't he come out yet?"_

Then she found him, and knew. He wasn't hers.

"Why?"

There is a sigh, and he rubs the back of his neck (much like her second Doctor). "Because. I've regretted many of my actions, or lack thereof. Destroying planets, civilizations…killing dictators and watching companions die…the trickery, the lies… but not saying those words, on that beach…"

He trails off, squeezes her hand. What she doesn't know is while he regrets his fumble, he knew later it was for the best. It gave his metacrisis a chance. But if he could've said the words himself…

For her, it's only been five months since his goodbye on Bad Wolf Bay. In his time, however, he said goodbye for the first time there roughly one-hundred –and-twenty-five years and three regenerations ago. Fifteen companions have come and gone as well.

He hasn't told her any of it. About how she finds a way back and he leaves her again with a hybrid, a broken toy. About how later, when he meet his other self and finds that they lived a happy and long life, but he had been wrong, so wrong about the aging quirk, that he cried for the first time since he'd left the alternative world. In his time, Rose Tyler is dead, dead and gone. He knew it would happen. He didn't know he couldn't bear it.

Others had died. Several right in front of him. But hearing that his poor, sweet Rose-who trusted him from the start in the basement of that shop he blew up, who trusted his decision to demolish 10 Downing Street to save Earth, who kept faith throughout everything fate threw at her—had been disappointed by his attempt to ensure her life happiness nearly killed him. He literally wanted to die upon hearing of his huge mistake. She hadn't gotten her domestics, her mortal Doctor. _Everything she ever deserved… _

His metacrisis swore she had been happy to the end, grateful for the chance to stay with him forever in some format. This news did nothing to ease his distress; it only proved she had been too kind, too good for the likes of him. He still couldn't find it in him to forgive himself.

The only thing he's told her is the only thing she needs to know—she'll find a way through. And he's dying.

"…it was my biggest regret." He finishes later, when they're curled together in her bed. "And I wasn't sure if I could die properly without saying it one more time. Rose Tyler, I love you."

Rose doesn't say a word as she sits up to give a sweet, long kiss, then so much more. There isn't anything to say.

After his third day, she's collect herself enough to examine him. It's as though the regeneration gods decided to make a perfect mix of her Doctors for the last model. This man isn't wiry or bulky, but perfectly toned with average ears, short, crazy hair, and burning blue eyes. His wrists aren't weak, but he's got the old teeth and a Northern accent. There's no leather jacket to act as armor, but instead a tailored jacket and jumper with plain jeans. He's wearing trainers and keeps the sonic close at hand. He looks to be between the ages of 30 or 40. She cannot tell if he's melancholy or relived to be in this position.

She only has to pull him to her and he's there. Telling her as story, or kissing her full on the mouth. They won't release hands, even in their sleep.

After the first month (which he's surprised he's lived to see), the dying Doctor has to convince her to return to the dimension canon once more.

"If you don't find a way to get through, I can't be here." He explains gently, motioning to himself. "One day you have to go back, Rose."

It hurts to admit, but even if he's still hanging around, waiting to die, she'll have to return.

"I already have you."

"But not the right version. I'm just a dying old man. Go back to the younger me." It's an order, harsher than he meant to give.

"You need me more." _I need you. _

There is a sigh, a pinching of the bridge of his nose. "I need things to be the way they were when I crossed over. We must be linear."

"Why did you even come, then?" She spits out. "If you knew what you were doing?"

He can't do anything except run a hand through his hair and lowers his head. The Doctor has, for once, been selfish. Is that what he's supposed to tell her? He feels like he deserves this, for once. Does she disagree?

Rose closes her eyes, takes his hand, and apologizes. It's not for the first time, nor the last.

"Just…tell me you're sorry." She pleads softly.

His smile is small. But it's there. "I am. I'm sorry, Rose Tyler."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Her canon is finished eight months after his arrival. Well, nearly finished. He's waiting to tell her the formula wasn't quite right, so that no matter what coordinates were longed in the traveler would be just off. Not quite right on target. Rose will figure it out soon enough, he's sure. And he's not about to ruin her moment of triumph.

There is a small, private party in the basement of Torchwood to celebrate the success. He's come, not because he wants to, but to show her how proud she's made him. So he's enduring the domestics, just for one night.

Rose has been trapped here for nearly two years. Just one more and she'll come back to the younger him. He hopes he'll be long gone by then. Maybe if he isn't around, she'll be able to start anew with his metacrisis. They need to have a good life together, even if it's uneven again. It is the least he can give her. The least the universe owes him. Rose Tyler's happiness surely isn't too much to ask?

It's there, eating cheese pizza and drinking cheap ale in the Torchwood basement that he learns of Pete Tyler's Vitex gala. Rose is expected to attend. He's already drown in the domestics as is, so why not?

It turns out to be an event, a huge, glittering ball. Not that the Doctor minds. He's turned into a regular partier since his tenth regeneration. Occasionally he'll crash a big one, just to relieve some of the loneliness. The first night of the Titanic's maiden voyage, Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee, a twenty-eighth century celebration after the end of the war of the East and the West.

In gold satin, with hair piled upon her head in an elegant fashion, he's reminded of the Bad Wolf. The companion who gave the most. Yes, Rose deserves the normality he'll give to her with the metacrisis. She's radiant, social, groomed perfectly for this life.

Throughout the entire night, no matter how many men she dances with, she always returns to him. When everyone else leaves and the night is over, it is them you'll see swaying in the dimmed lights, crossing the entire dance floor. When he dips her low, Rose laughs. The face may have changed, but things between them have not.

When he pulls her back up, she presses her cheek against his, sighing. "I knew you could dance."

"Without music, no less."

"We've never needed music."

"No," she agrees.

"We've always had the imagination to create our own."

It is then he tells her his true name. She's both excited and disappointed, saying, "I never needed to know."

"But I always wanted you to."

**XXXXXXXXXX**

Occasionally he'd visit past companions. Sarah Jane, for example. Amy, occasionally. Jake still sent Christmas cards. Martha called on him, once or twice for help. Though he never reintroduced himself to Grace, he stopped by. And every so often he'd go back to see Donna—from a distance, of course.

Sometimes, he even visited their pasts, their lives prior to meeting him. He saw them as such different people. Less adventurous, sometime. Or more. He knew holding on wasn't right, so eventually he stopped. Except, not when it came to _her. _When he was completely alone, he always went back to Rose. Twelve times, he'd gone back.

Once to tell her his ship could time travel.

Once to save her from the Daleks.

Once to say goodbye on the beach of a cold bay.

Once from a regeneration, to help her save their worlds.

Once, in her past, to see her before he…

And then again, when he had regenerated and found his feelings hadn't changed.

From then on he has crept into the past to watch her grow up. His Rose. The brave child, the stupid teenager. The Doctor's companion.

He always came back to her. Like a popular library book.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

Even though it has been decades-only a few months for Rose, really, but it's felt like years in her mind- they slip back into routines easily. After her morning shower, he slipped into the bathroom to shave, brush his teeth, and go about general morning business. She'd help him with the most difficult bits of shaving, occasionally commenting on his hair styling. Then there is breakfast, a chaotic affair. Prior to his tenth regeneration, their morning meal was simple, quiet. Then came along his tenth self—incredibly indecisive. Did he want waffles? Toast? And English muffin? Tea, or coco? Jam or jelly? Bananas or—well, there wasn't really anything to compare bananas to.

During breakfast they make a great debate about whether she is going to work today. Her father has given her the privilege of picking her own schedule—with her mind so busy with thoughts of him, it is rarely focused on her actual work. The Doctor insists she returns five days out of seven at the very least—she needs to finish the canon. Rose wishes to spend as much time as possible with him.

"You're dying." She says. "I'm going to spend as much time as possible with you."

"You'll get another version me soon if you keep working." He replies mildly. "Use me while you can, Rose. The canon needs to be finished before I—"

"It can wait a little longer." Rose whispers. "A few days of work lost is worth every moment with you."

At that point, he usually stops arguing by pulling her into a bone-crushing hug or turning away, telling her to go.

After breakfast, she'll get dressed, and helps him pick out clothing too. He watches, eyes visibly ancient while she strips off her pajamas. They both have youthful bodies, yet he is over a thousand years old and feels it in his bones. Rose takes his hand, kissing him softly to let him know she doesn't care. Age has never been an issue between them.

If he has allowed her to stay today, she'll find something for them to do. Rose and the Doctor can sit around, holding one another. They'll go anywhere—local art fests, the beach, zeppelins rides to France and the like. It's not nearly as exciting as space or time travel, but it's enough. She occasionally inquires after the TARDIS. The Doctor tells her his beloved ship is here, but he refuses to tell Rose where.

"She's hiding." He teases.

Rose huffs in disappointment. "Not even a hint?"

"No." His eyes soften. "Rose, one day you'll find her. When you truly need the TARDIS, she'll be there."

"How very Harry Potter." Rose remembers how entertained he'd been to find out J.K. Rowling's magnificent book was even more successful in the alternate world than it had been in theirs.

"I swear it to you. But now…"

"No more adventures?"

He squeezes her. "Not in the TARDIS."

If Rose hasn't won that morning and therefore is going to work, she'll whine while dressing. He watches, amused. As she drags herself out the door he presses a sweet, chaste kiss on her forehead before shutting the front door with a snap. Rose works for eight hours, almost forgetting her Doctor is waiting for her at home because she's so intent on finding a way back to her old Doctor. Then she comes home to find him making dinner, reading a novel or a physics text book, or watching some movie he'll compare to the alternate universe version. They'll settle in to a quiet dinner and a glorious night.

**XXXXXXXXX**

The house they share is tiny. To her surprise, he adores the damn thing. She's painted the exterior a pale yellow, but the bedroom is dark, TARDIS-blue. Cherry wood floors are in nearly every room, save the kitchen and bathrooms. Rose has filled every room with antiques—her travels have changed her sense of style. She values the old, the ancient, the rare. He taught to appreciate older goods.

Their bed is a solid, hand-carved ebony. Simple black sheet and a gray duvet tops the mattress. There are no unnecessary pillows, no frills on the curtains, no dust ruffle. It is simple, clean and cluttered only by books and trinkets. The moment the Doctor saw it, he knew it was made for him. In memory of him.

From the TARDIS, he brought some of her favourite belongs, things she hasn't touch in virtually one hundred years. Though, for her, it's been only a few months. Here there are pictures, jewelry, gifts…a sweater she'd bought on Klacks Cque. He found them right where she left them, in her room. On the floor, in the closet, across the chair, on the dresser. They were perfect. The TARDIS left them like that—not even a single layer of dust coated the surface. It was as if she never left.

**XXXXXXXX**

His thumb traces her bottom lip, slow and steady. Rose stands with her arms around his thin waist, legs crossed. She's nervous. Ready, but nervous. Moving one hand cautiously to her shoulder, the Doctor fingers her elastic spaghetti strap.

They have waited so long for this day. Rose is miserable only for his sake—it's his last time, or at least one of his last times. She doesn't know exactly how long he has lived without her. But she has waited for this since…perhaps their first discussion about dancing? When they spun around the TARDIS consol to Glen Miller's jazzy "In the Mood."

When one hand falls to her waist, Rose holds her breath, emotions choking her up inside. He isn't nearly as emotional, hands still caressing various patches of skin. She would almost say he is being too slow, but she knows he's taking his time for a reason. Soon the Time Lord would be gone. The Doctor has waited far longer than she and he wants to savor every bit of event.

The hand stroking her shoulder stops briefly. If she didn't know better, Rose would have thought that hand was shaking as it slid the tiny strip of fabric from her skin. First the left, then the right. It had begun.

Afterwards, Rose could've sworn he had never made love to her before. He was terribly cautious, gentle, as if he wasn't entirely sure what to touch, where to move when it came to pleasing his human partner. The Doctor has danced before, he told her as much himself. But throughout the night he was preciously careful like he was scared to break his human mate. Silly, really. She'd spent the rest of her life with him, didn't she? He'd already been through this "first time" with her. This shouldn't be so awkward for the Doctor.

Nevertheless, Rose enjoys herself immensely and almost immediately suggests they go again. He Doctor only laughs and pushes her back onto the pillows, sweeping her into his arms for a nice long morning nap.

**XXXXXXXX**

They argue more than they ever had in the old days. It's very odd—they're not running for their lives on a daily basis, but things are more serious than ever. The Doctor is dying.

And every day he's forcing her _leave _him behind to go to work. All for that damn canon! She cannot bear it, day after day. He acts as though it is nothing. It is as if they have gone domestic, and he's the stay-at-home dad, without any children. Now is the only chance they would ever have but he can't let her. _Won't _let her even try.

He doesn't want her to bear the burden of carrying a dying man's child, then a dead man's child. There is no possible way he would live to see any imaginary child born. Neither of them could stand the thought, except…she wants some piece of him left behind. This version of him. He swears they will reunited when the canon is finished, which is why she's taking her sweet time on the damn thing.

"If I knew I could be there every step of the way," He whispers one night as they lie together, windows open. The room is chilled, but the combined body heat is more than enough. "we could try. But Rose…"

That's how these heartbreaking statements always begin. _"But Rose…"_ She wishes for just three minutes she could go entirely deaf, but no such luck. The unseen deity those zealots always swore would save her sure wasn't doing her any favours now.

"We _can't_. Soon, you'll be back with him." Did he sound bitter? "Traveling through dimensions pregnant can't be safe for any fetus, let alone a child. Even if you could, Rose, how would you raise a child on the TARDIS, with our kind of lifestyle?"

"I'd stay here. For you."

"No!" It comes out forcefully. "You'd be dishonoring my memory, Rose. Returning to me would serve a far better purpose."

She is still for a long time before: "I want this you."

"Oh Rose," The Doctor sighs. "We're the same person. You know, just, new faces."

"He won't be you. He'll be a you without memories of this. Of us. Things will return to affection at an arm's length." Then, in a lower voice, "He won't be _mine."_

He's silent, because he knows she is right. Until this, he has belonged to the universe, no single person. This is the adventure he could never have. Rose knows it, knows that it isn't fair to demand more out of the other, younger him. Oh, he loves equally, would kill and destroy worlds all for her sake. But that doesn't stop the fact that she is not the number one thing in his life. Can never be the number one thing in his life.

To be entirely honest, the fact doesn't bother Rose. She understands; he's the Doctor. Still, understanding doesn't make the situation any less painful.

"One day," He says. "You'll be glad I didn't let you."

The Doctor sounds like some stern father—_"One day you'll be glad I didn't let you dye your hair," _or _"Some day you will look back on this and be thankful I didn't let you date that cad." _Rose could roll her eyes, but instead rolls over in bed. Even so, she feels that perhaps he's right.

**XXXXXXX**

Even with the sky littered with great, silver balloons, everything is lovely. The sun isn't overheating the day. Flowers are in full bloom. The city is loud, pounding with the age-old beat of motion, progress and growth. This isn't exactly perfection. But it is close and they'll take it without complaint.

Today is one of hers—she won the fight easily because he was tired and unwilling to put forth much effort. For once, she can tell he is just as reluctant in letting her go to work. Time must be running short. Regardless of his youthful features, she sees evident age in those eyes. It makes her wonder what will become of them.

Once they leave the house he is a bouncy and buoyant as ever. Chatty as the tenth version of himself. They walk to the park, laughing when she trips or when his tongue slips over a word the wrong way. For lunch they buy sandwiches and sit on the edge of one of the many fountains, teasing each other, talking about everything. He tells her about the planet Boosh, where socks are considered sinful and everyone wears tea cozy-like foot wear. Rose updates him on the latest office drama in Torchwood—it may be a state-of-the-art facility, but the employees are about as immature as primary students when it came to romantic relations among other worker. The Doctor is personally enthralled with her story, which leads her to believe all those times catching him in the TV room with flat screen stuck on channels with soaps, perhaps it was the TARDIS having a fit, or the remote being lost….

"I can't imagine leaving this." She tells him honestly as they walk around the fountain. It's much later in the day, close to sunset. Rose is balancing herself on the ledge, arms out to her sides for support. He has remained on the ground, kicking any rocks that dare to cross his path. "It's like the perfect dream."

"Even with the imperfect bits?" The Doctor asks, smiling. "All the bad dinners, the crying, the arguments."

"Especially those." Rose halts, turning to him. She puts a hand on either side of his face. "The bad things make it real. And they make the good things special. Better."

He takes her hands to kiss the knuckles. "You should've been a philosopher."

"No need to tease me."

"I'm not!" In the dying rays of the sun, he looks golden, eternal. If possible, Rose would take a picture so she could remember it forever. It's the perfect kind of metaphor: the perfect day dying with the perfect man.

"Okay." She says softly.

Just to be sure, he picks her off the ledge, twirling her around before setting her on her feet so as to execute a long, sweet kiss. Rose feels her legs turn to jelly, and leans in to absorb the radiant warmth he's pouring into her. The park's other patrons either ignore them or smile, appreciative of the ability of society to provide two such happy, lovely people.

The Doctor pulls away, still hovering a few centimeters over her lips to say: "I love you."

Rose doesn't say anything except a coy, (and yet irritatingly audacious), _"Quite right, too."_ before bouncing for another go. Well, he can't honestly blame her. He would've done the same thing in her place.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

Sometimes, he misses her hoddies, sweatpants, and cheap cotton shirts. She's moved on from trainers, but still wears the coloured leather jackets. Being human means she grows up, moves away from the teenage-typical wardrobe she preferred when they first met. The Doctor is rather fond of her new clothes—tailored pinstripe pants with silky blouses and smart jackets. Boot cut jeans and button-down shirts. Posh and evenly matched with her new income.

Rose only puts on the sassy t-shirts and comfy sweats when she's home with him. It is strangely comforting to see her wearing them.

She looks best when wearing the fluffy yellow robe with pink roses. He gave it to her for Christmas one year, on the TARDIS. Obviously, she'd left the original behind, but found something similar. Rose would occasionally complain to him that it wasn't the same, so this Christmas he brought her the original. It had been in her bedroom, hanging off a bedpost. She had squealed, throwing herself on the Time Lord for a bone-crushing hug.

Since she won again today, they're at the mall. Surprisingly, he has insisted they go as a form of therapy—for Rose, of course. Time is running short once more. He thinks perhaps something relatively normal will reduce her level of stress and fear.

Rose isn't being very enthusiastic, so he's trying his hand at being a role model by bounding through the stores, slinging blouses and skirts and dresses off of racks to hum _"Ooh, this would look lovely!" _

She is seriously about to gag.

The final straw is the strapless leather mini dress he picks out in a moment of mischief. The worst part is when he insists she try it on.

"No way in hell," She informs him. "Am I letting that get a centimeter near my body."

"Oh, Rose!" He pouts adorably. "Honestly, it's in style this season…"

"Have you been watching _What Not to Wear_ again?" Rose asks, completely horrified. She has already caught it on the telly twice this month. It's not so different from the one in her universe, except for there are three hosts instead of two and one of them is a male.

"Well, that's beside the point—" Upon seeing her expression, he back peddles. "Maybe. Possible. Depends on your definition of 'watch.' Because sometimes I just happen to catch bits as I change channels."

"Doctor, honestly."

"Rose, honestly!" He mocks, grinning. "Okay, maybe not the leather, but have you see the animal print over here? Smashing."

Oh, bully. It's another ten minutes before she has him convinced she _will not _wear any bloody animal print. By then he's moved on to shoes, thank god. None of his other regenerations were as…stylish. And they certainly never shopped with her. Or, at least they wouldn't voluntarily. Rose can't say if this is an improvement or not. She's pondering pros and cons, but then he's at her elbow again, dragging her off to look at scarves. Apparently, her wardrobe is severely lacking some scarves.

Part of her wants to ask "What's the point?" According to the Doctor, in just a few months she'll be gone, back to her own universe. Spending some-odd hundred pounds is really just wasteful.

But he's having fun and she's finding herself having fun between laughing at the silly things he's picking out and his wicked enthusiasm.

He holds up a long, ludicrous and glittery piece of fur. Rose shakes with laughter and knows this is right.

Later, he escorts her to a nearby theater to watch the latest Matrix (in this universe there were eight films). They buy popcorn, extra large sodas and huge boxes of traditional theater candy because, as he says, between huge bites of the buttery, stale snack, life is way too short to not go all out just once. Rose agrees, settling in beside him, head on his shoulder and hair draped across his jacket. In the following years, she won't recall any part of the plot or even who the primary actors were. But she'll forever hold on to the smell of his skin, and how his fingers glistened in the dark from the oily butter, how he squeezed her hand at the scary bits and whispered in the dark answers to the philosophical questions posed by the film.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

When the day comes, she's at work. Even with the canon finished, there are tests to be run and the paperwork never seems to stop. He has won this morning, for the first time in ages. All of her coworkers are on pins and needles, knowing temporary re-entry into the workforce does wonders to her temper. Pete is just as cautious, creeping downstairs to check on her progress quietly, then slipping out again just a soundless. The day drags on with intermediate progress. Rose is surprised to find herself thoroughly focused when the secretary peeks in to inform her of a call on line five.

Sighing heavily, the young human puts the phone on speaker. "Torchwood, Rose Tyler. Be quick about it, I have a helium valve and triple nixcion duct to repair."

"Rose," the voice on the other end rasps. "Rose, you ought to come home."

"Doctor!" She already standing, pulling on her jacket and pushing the hair from her face. "Doctor, what is it?"

There is a cough. "I shouldn't have let you leave today. I could feel it…I knew, but I thought perhaps…" More coughing crackles across the line. "Please, come."

She doesn't even bother to disconnect. Rose sprints from her office, ignores the elevator and dashes up the stairs. Nobody asks why she's leaving. They know. Everyone knows. And nobody is looking forward to the next several months. Nobody envies Rose Tyler.

She's home in twenty minutes. It feels more like twenty years. Fumbling with the keys, she takes an extra five seconds opening the door, internally cursing herself all the way. He's nowhere in sight, so Rose checks the bedroom and bathroom first. But no, he's on the kitchen floor, sweating and shaking with his eyes closed. She lifts him up gently to lead him to the couch where he lies back with his head on her lap. He swears there is nothing she can do, not now. So Rose just strokes his face, tears pouring silently down her cheeks.

He cannot die. She cannot just sit here and watch him leave her behind again. Not today. Not ever. He's moaning and tossing, hands tangled in hers. How is she supposed to stand this?

The Doctor, as if sensing her discomfort, stills himself into unsteady jerks every couple of seconds. Rose tightens her grip on his hand. She would almost prefer the louder bit.

"Oh, Rose." His hand is on her cheek, bushing away fat, gray tears. Even with the smudged mascara and eyeliner she is still the most beautiful thing in both universes. "Rose. I'm so sorry." He has never wanted to cause her so much pain. He tells her this and she smiles watery.

"I wouldn't take a second of it back." Rose confesses in a whisper. "You're worth all of it."

"Don't say that."

"You are! Doesn't matter what happens. I could save the universe, but lose you, yeah? What's that going to do to a girl?" She laughs. "I never had a chance. But I didn't need any. You're worth it, Doctor."

"Rose." He breathes. "Rose, I'm sorry. I wish I could've given you…everything. The stars. And the domestics. And everything. Because you deserve it." As best he can, he turns his aching neck to get a better view. "I never managed to give you what you truly deserved. S'why I came back. S'why I'll always come back. I belong to you, Rose Tyler."

"What do you mean?" She's there, whispering back and stroking his shaking hands. His entire body quivers.

"Somewhere in time, right now there is another me making my way back to you. I'm yours."

Rose still doesn't quite understand. But he hasn't got much left in him. And at the very least, it sounds sweet.

"Love you." He wheezes with what is seemingly his last breath. "Rose Tyler. Have a…fantastic life."

"I have." Rose promises. "You gave me a wonderful, fantastic life, Doctor. Thank you."

There are still many things to say. Yet nothing seems right except.

"I love you. I'm glad you chose me to…look after you. And…" She swallows. "I don't know how—how the universe will go on without you, Doctor."

His eyes are half-lidded; his expression is a dreamy sort of peaceful. "_Allons-y_, Rose."

Yes. Let us go.

A few seconds pass before his breath stops entirely. A minute before the pulse is gone. She holds him all night, then calls her father in the morning. She's never made funeral arrangements before.

**XXXXXXXXXXXX**

Three weeks later she finds herself running down an almost-deserted street toward a man in pinstripes, Converse and a billowing brown overcoat. Then she's back on the TARDIS reliving her loss of three weeks prior.

Next she's on a Dalek ship, facing death with him once more. Darvos says things, terrible things that would make anyone else doubt or fear her Doctor, but Rose looks him straight in the eye. And he knows it doesn't matter. He is worth it. All of it.

They're back on the TARDIS. Her mother is there, as well as Mickey. Together they give her hugs and careful examinations. She still sad, but there is an uncertain, radiant joy about her that can only mean one thing: she's back with her Doctor.

A few more stops and Rose finds herself back in Norway of the parallel world. At first she thinks they're here just to drop off Mum, then she sees his face. It is drawn and pale, just like it is when he is about to do something very, very painful.

"Hold on…this is the parallel universe, right?"

He steps toward her. "You're back home."

Rose stares into his eyes. This isn't home. This was never home. Home is the TARDIS. Home is with him, flying around the vast universe. Home is running for her life every day, holding his hand, dancing around the consol. Home isn't cold, it isn't foreign. It isn't here.

Donna speaks up. "And the walls of the world are closing again... now that the Reality Bomb never happened. It's dimension retroclosure. See, I really get that stuff now."

"No." The tears blur her vision. She can't be bothered to wipe them away. "I spent all that time trying to find you, I'm not going back now!"

But you've got to. Because we saved the universe, but at a cost. And the cost is him." He nods to his replica. "He destroyed the Daleks. He committed genocide. He's too dangerous to be left on his own."

So he wants her to babysit? Rose had barely paid the metacrisis any mind and now she tossed him a tearful glance. The other Doctor seems just as indigent as she was, saying angrily "You made me!"

Her Doctor rounds on his other self."Exactly, you were born in battle - full of blood and anger and revenge. Remind you of someone? "

Rose casts her eyes downward as the image of a leather-clad, dark-haired warrior enters her mind eye. He is serious, aloof. Distant and easily angered. Hers.

The Doctor peers into her eyes, knowing what runs through her mind._"_That's me. When we first met. And you made me_ better_. And now you can do the same for him."

"But he's not _you_." She tries to stress this. His older, dying self had promised. He promise she would stay with him! But surely he knew…he had to have known…Oh. It made sense, now. _"That day, on the beach."_

"He needs you. That's very me." _That doesn't make him you. What about what I need? _

"But it's better than that, though. Don't you see what he's trying to give you?" Donna looks to the new Doctor, encouraging. "Tell her, go on."

He hesitates before launching in slowly.** "**I look like him and I think like him... same memories, same thoughts, same everything. Except… I've only got one heart."

She blinks in the sunlight, staring up at him. **"**Which means?"

"I'm part human. Specifically the aging part. I'll grow old and never regenerate. I've only got one life... Rose Tyler." The way he says her name completely breaks Rose's heart. If she didn't know, she would've thought he was her Doctor, not some cheap copy. But…only, he's not. He has the same emotions as the original, the same hopeful, dark look in the depth of his eyes. "I could spend it with you. If you want."

What? _"_You'll grow- grow old at the same time as me?"

The new Doctor returns her stare shyly. "Yes. Together. If you want." He repeats.

Her Doctor stands in the background, hands shoved into his pockets. **"**We've gotta go. This reality's sealing itself off. Forever."

He turns to leave, make a swift exit. He is trying to pull the band aid off quickly so as to avoid the unnecessary pain a slower, excruciating peeling would cause.

Even with the tempting mortal Time Lord, Rose cannot allow her Doctor to leave. _You promised! _She wants to yell, to cry out and ask him why, _why _is he leaving her like this? Why again?

"But it's still not right." Is the only thing she can blurt out. Not _"You told me forever!" _or any mention of his older self.

Her Doctor turns back, looking at her expectantly. She's already become a waste of his time. Rose swallows, her throat dry. "Because... the Doctor's... still you. "

"And I'm him."

She sighs and walks to him, dragging the newer model behind her. They halt with her in the middle, either Doctor facing the other. Rose can't think of any other way, any other thing that would make him change his mind. _He said it was his biggest regret. _**"**All right. Both of you, answer me this. When I last stood on this beach on the worst day of my life... what was the last thing you said to me?"

Both men eye one another and the human between them. There is a deafening silence.  
_  
_"Go on, say it." Rose demands desperately. He has to. He can't…he can't leave her here, like this without….

"I said, 'Rose Tyler.'"

"Yeah, and how was that sentence going to end?"

His eyes tighten and she realizes this isn't any easier for him. He is regretting this. **"**Does it need saying?"

They stare into the other's eyes for what feels like years before Rose breaks the contact to turn to the double. Surely he can't allow his copy to say what is pounding through his thoughts right now. He just can't."

"And you, Doctor?" She stumbles over the name. It's not really his. "What was the end of that sentence?"

The second Time Lord looks to his twin. Rose never sees the slight incline of the head, entirely misses the apologetic nod in return. Before she knows what is happening, she has her answer and she's responded and…they're left on a lonely beach, the sound of the TARDIS engines fading against the beating of the constant ocean waves.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

She is probably in shock. She cannot move, nor talk, nor do anything sort of this. The new Doctor has to carry her to the rental car. Her head lolls onto his shoulder and she accidently inhales his Doctor-y scent. Then she begins crying and can't quite find a way to stop.

He hesitates in the car, then just gathers her into his arms again, whispering soft comforts. But he doesn't understand. Her Doctor had _lied. _

She's not sure what hurts more: the abandonment or the false promises.

But it doesn't matter to Rose right now. She can only focus on the sheer pain flooding her mind, making all her limbs heavy and her heart heavy and her head hurt and…

_Everything …all that is…all that was…all that ever will be…._

It might've been a mistake, she tells her self before blacking out completely. Perhaps.

**XXXXXXXXX**

Three months later they find the TARDIS. It's in a garden shed behind the Tyler mansion. It is a little dusty, with cobwebs lining a great deal of the blue box's cracks and crevasse. Again, she is angered. More by herself than her old Doctor; Rose walked past this shed almost daily, why hadn't she ever had the notion to look inside? He'd taught her a limitless curiosity, so why hadn't sure used it?

She's scared to enter the familiar ship. Her metacrisis steps up, squeezing her hand instantly. Rose turns to him. In a charcoal suit with sage pinstripes and green trainer, he isn't quite right. His hair is a tad wilder, his skin too warm and his pulse lacks a double. Despite these remarkable differences, she's grateful for his presence. She does not want to do this alone.

Hands still clasps, together they enter the TARDIS.

At first, everything is dark and Rose fears her beloved ship is dead. But then a humming starts. Suddenly, the place is flooded with light and wind. And now they can see: great pieces of the ceiling and floor are falling off. Bits of consol are crumbling away. The rota is cracked, as are all the screens and windows. The interior is altogether different from when she had last been here, a bit more vintage with more silver than bronze.

The poor thing looks as though it has been through a war. But then again, maybe it has.

Along with the wind, there is hope. Repairs begin to happen as more bits fall away and disappear, leaving behind newer pieces. The Doctor pulls her back as a section of ceiling and glass drop from directly above them. Rose can hear the TARDIS hum in apology. She is glad to have her master and his mate back. They have been missed.

The Doctor works his hand up to her face. "Rose? Are you sure you want to do this-I mean, is this the kind of life you really want? Because I thought you wanted something a bit more…" He searches for the word. "…domestic."

The human stares up at her half Time Lord. He's scratching a patch of skin just behind his neck; it tends to itch when he's nervous. The eyes are wide. The pulse is single.

"We can do domestics in between." Rose finally says, standing on tiptoe to give him a slow kiss. He responds instantly, deepening it. Against his lips, she smiles. Before he wouldn't be so bold. Well, she straightened that kettle of fish out in the first week.

He is eager to begin their new lives together, to give her the adventure he thought he could never have. Rose still has a few uncertainties, but she's willing to try. Because you don't let go of second chances, or even third chances. Not when it came to the Doctor.

They begin their journey, deciding it would probably be best to start in Barcelona. Had to check up on those dogs. See if they still had no noses.

Somewhere, in another universe, all three of her Doctors are flying around the Vortex and looking for adventure. Rose can't help but wonder how her second one is doing himself, if he at all misses her. But that's about where those thoughts end. She's gotten her third chance and she's not about to waste it.

She wishes him the best.

**XXXXXXXX**

He wishes she were back by his side. He makes the mental note to leave one tiny gape in the seam between his universe and hers. One day, there may be some cause to return. Some selfish cause.

One hundred and twenty years in future, he remembers his present flaw, his right to have a happy ending, and most of all his Rose Tyler. One hundred and twenty years in the future, he sets the course for Pete's world.

At most, he has months. And if he had any other choice…if there were any other way…

But there is truly no other place he'd rather be.

"_The adventure I could never have…"_

The only adventure he'd like to have, now. Because dying is an adventure. He's old and so lonely. Death is welcome. Well, nearly. It's welcome as soon as he is ready. And he is, almost.

There are still a million and one things to do, hundreds of thousands to save, villains to stop but for once he's being entirely selfish so as to grant his own dying wish—it is not as though anyone else will.

He has always been hers. For the last thousand year, he's just been borrowed by the universe like a library book that is so popular it never stays on its home shelf for very long. That is a perfect simile for their relationship, yes. Today he's returning for the last time, to stay for as long as fickle time will allow him. If time is kind, he might be there for a month or more. But if there is no such thing as Karma, maybe a few moments.

The Time Lord could complain, but he thinks a few moments might be enough. Besides, he's sick of running.

**I repeated the opening paragraphs here, in case you didn't catch that. Thank you so much for reading. A review would be lovely! **

**~Dani**


End file.
